Armure et Amour
by pennylanes
Summary: "Promise not to do anything stupid like start falling in love with me," she laughs, lolling her head to the side to rest her cheek on the cool hardwood. His eyes roam over the expanse of her exposed neck. "So don't go and get all attached, got it?" [Modern AU]
1. Chapter 1

He's not exactly sure how they, of all people, manage to find themselves like this.

One minute they're in his living room watching some shitty bordering-on-porn film on television, and next she's tugging at his hair and running her foot up his jean-clad calf, all tangled limbs and tongues as they lay on the floor.

He'd be lying if he thinks this is the worst possible thing to happen to him that night. But what the actual hell is going on? He blames the damn movie playing in the background.

She chuckles as they disentangle themselves from one another moments later. "Well, that hasn't happened in a while."

He clears his throat and tugging his shirt back into place. "And it's not going to happen again," he says in his usual stern tone. "We just got carried away."

She studies his face for a long time, biting her lip before she speaks. "It wasn't a big deal then, and it isn't now. Being overcome with desire doesn't mean you have to commit to anything, Enjolras. Just another way to forget all the shit going on."

He notices her mumbling the tail end of her statement and is almost sure she's talking to herself more than him. His eyes flicker to her hand tugging on her sleeve unconsciously, covering up the newly formed bruises near her wrist that look suspiciously like fingers.

He doesn't respond, not wanting to touch on it any further. "Are you staying over?"

She simply nods; her eyes had since drifted back to the television and he goes to grab blankets and a pillow, parking himself on the couch for the rest of the night.

* * *

He doesn't approve of her line of work (if you can call it that). None of the boys at the café do. He accepts that dancing around in skimpy clothing on stage is a living, yes, but they all know she's made for more than that. They're all very protective of Éponine, even though she's capable of looking out for herself. Courfeyrac often jokes that she could probably beat the living shit out of any of _them_ if she really wanted to.

But it's not Courfeyrac that she calls at 3 in the morning when she has a tough night at work, or at her father's house with his gang hanging about. It's Enjolras' phone that goes off and it's his apartment that she takes solace in. It's Enjolras who's seen the results of her taking the brunt end of everything, showing exactly _why_ she needs to be tough.

"I need to crash," she'll say. And he won't question her, even as she shows up smelling like she showered in whiskey, or sports a red welt on her cheek. She'll tell him if she wants to; the last thing Éponine wants is pity, and she'll gladly hold a grudge against anyone who thinks her weak. He personally learned his lesson the first time she showed up at his doorstep looking like someone punched her in the mouth, and asked why she didn't call the cops or one of them to come help her. She ignored him for two entire days just to get her point across, and he couldn't do anything but let her stay at his place and give her breathing room.

Only Éponine could make you feel guilty about invading her personal space even when it's your own room she's sleeping in.

It's exactly a week since the little incident in his living room, but nothing changes between them. They've danced this dance before, and no matter how many time Enjolras tells her it won't happen again, they never shy away when it does. They just don't talk about it after.

It's no surprise to him when she shows up at his door at 2 in the morning asking if she can stay for a few days, but it does surprise him when she says it's because she broke up with Montparnasse.

"You're so nice for letting me stay here whenever I fuck things up."

"Breaking up with your lout of a boyfriend isn't 'fucking up', Éponine," he reassures her. "It's progress. You know my door's always open to you, no matter how much you insist it's because you like hanging around me."

"I actually do like hanging around you, you idiot. You don't always have to let me, though."

"That's what friends do," he says with a smile that he hopes is more comforting than sympathetic, ending the discussion and leaving his room to take refuge on the sofa.

* * *

She hogs his bed for the next five days, forcing him to camp out in his living room. On the sixth, he's in the middle of going over his notes for the meeting later when she sidles up next to him, evidently just getting out of bed. She tells him that she's found a new place and will be out of his hair in a few hours.

"Are you sure?" He asks, not taking his eyes off of the pages as he frantically scrawls notes in the margins.

"Yes," she says.

He hums in response, truly happy she's moving on, but this speech isn't going as planned and damn him if he doesn't figure it out by that afternoon. Recent news about rising taxes and what it means for the lower classes has his mind all over the place.

"Marius is helping me move the rest of my things in tomorrow," she quips happily.

"Oh yeah?" It's no secret to anyone that she's head over ass in love with Pontmercy; God only knows why she bothered with Montparnasse in the first place. But now that the latter is out of the picture, he's not surprised that she'd be giddy over Marius moving some boxes around for her. "Is he bringing Cosette, too?"

"Dick move, Enj," she scoffs, venom lacing her raspy voice. He feels bad for a second.

_'Why does this not sound right?!'_ He internally fumes as he yet again scratches out a line in his notes.

"God. Relax a little?" She flicks his ear, annoyed and still rattled by his little comment, and he only responds with an irritated 'shit, Ep,' before half-ignoring her again. He can practically hear her eyes roll. "The entire time I've been here, you've been looking like you're about to have some sort of fit. You need a break. Come on, some guy tipped me something huge last night, let's go to lunch; payback for this week."

"Keep it, you earned it," he mumbles, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice.

He can feel her eyes on him for a while before she lets out an irritated huff. "Fine," she says, her mood officially sour.

She moves from her spot and he momentarily thinks she's going to get ready to leave, but then his pen and papers are torn out of his hands and she's in front of him, practically straddling him. She blindsides him by kissing the corner of his mouth.

"What are you doing?" He hisses as she slinks to the floor, undoing his shirt before trailing kisses down his chest and stomach while fumbling with the zipper on his jeans. "Ep..."

"Friends helping friends, right?" She asks against his hip, blinking up at him from her spot. "Come on, it's not like we haven't done this before."

Suddenly his speech and his notes are forgotten, scattered on the coffee table.

He barely has time to reply before her hands and mouth are otherwise occupied, and the only sound he makes is a strangled grunt as his eyes screw shut and his head falls back against the back of the sofa.

* * *

She stays true to her word and leaves shortly after, and the next time he would see her would be at the café in the afternoon. He wordlessly stands next to her as she pours crème and disgusting amounts of sugar into her coffee.

"I shouldn't have brought her up like that earlier, I apologize," he says.

"It's fine," she replies quite bitingly. He probably shouldn't bring her up again now, seeing as Marius had the audacity to bring the blonde to the meeting and Enjolras is most likely only making Éponine feel worse.

"I was just frustrated about my speech and everything, I wasn't quite getting my point across." Why he felt the need to further explain himself, he didn't know.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. "Did you manage to get it done?"

_'You mean after you had my cock in your mouth?_' He nods curtly and an odd silence passes between them.

"You didn't have to... do that..." He says between gritted teeth, unable to look at her.

She shrugs. "I know."

"You don't owe me anything, okay? Let's just clear that up right now."

"_I know._ Just," she pauses, turning to look at him and twisting her mouth as if searching for the right words to come out. "Tell me that didn't make you forget about your fucking protest for a bit."

He stared at her. If he was being honest, his speech had been the farthest thing from his mind before stepping foot in the café. He'll just have to write a better one next time.

"What are you saying?" He questions, his voice low so only she can hear. She's practically glaring at Cosette and Marius' cuddling forms by the window through her curtain of hair.

"I want to forget sometimes, too."

* * *

It's not the first time they've turned to each other to indulge in certain physical pleasantries. She remembers the first time quite vividly; the drunken kisses in his first year dorm room and going down on him after a failed attempt to watch an old foreign picture for their film class. The second time had her teaching him, in turn, 'how to please a woman', though she herself was barely over 18 then and her only other interests included cigarettes and band shirts. She dropped out the next year and had always wondered if he put her lessons to good use.

Judging by what their friends had told her about his love life (or lack-of), apparently not. But what better time to coax it out of him?

She's out with the guys on a Friday night, very drunk and very uncoordinated. He's way past his self-set limit for alcohol intake, thanks to Grantaire and Courfeyrac thinking it would be hilarious to mess with his little "system" by replacing his near-empty bottles with full ones when he isn't looking. It amazes her how he doesn't realize. He's about six beers in before he does notice that his bottle was never going empty. But by then he's as drunk as she is and she's trying to figure out if his hand brushing against her knee numerous times through the night is an accident or not.

She volunteers to escort him home even though she's in no condition to do so herself. But she's got other things in mind after seeing Marius and Cosette practically draped over each other the entire night.

They never even make it to the bedroom.

* * *

"So we're doing this," she drawls, grinning up at him from the all too familiar floor of his living room.

"Looks like it," he slurs, managing to remain upright as he pulls her stockings completely off her legs.

"Promise not to do anything stupid like start falling in love with me," she laughs, lolling her head to the side to rest her cheek on the cool hardwood. His eyes roam over the expanse of her exposed neck. "So don't go and get all attached, got it?"

He unbuckles his belt and musters up his usual condescending smirk. Love. "I don't see that happening."

It's clumsy, teeth are knocking together and they both keep their shirts on. She just pushes his pants and boxers down his thighs, hikes her skirt up and rides him, both of them wanting it too much to even bother with any type of foreplay. He can barely make out her face in his drunken haze, but maybe it's better that way.

* * *

After that night, they fall into a pattern.

She's bored; she calls and tells him that she's coming over.

He's ticked off after a heated argument with one of the guys; he shoots her a text message asking her to meet him after work.

It's easy, and the next time they see each other in public, there's no trace of evidence indicating that just hours ago, she was perched on top of him and drawing lazy circles with her nails on his chest, or that his fingers had dug so hard into her hips that her pale skin turned red when he pulled away.

She almost draws attention to their situation one day as she throws her hair up in a ponytail while her eyes are boring over a book on the table in front of her.

He tries not to react when Bossuet, who's seated across from her, notices a mark on her neck. He hears him chuckle and his voice is laced with amusement. "Hot date last night, 'Ponine?"

The girl only pats his friend's bald head and laughs, getting up to order another coffee, not even looking at Enjolras as she passes him in his seat.

* * *

He pretends it doesn't bother him when she whimpers Marius' name towards the ceiling one night, because what the fuck did he expect from the girl who was obviously still in love with that idiot?

_'Don't get attached,'_ he reminds himself.

He just bites her shoulder, hoping it jolts her to her senses enough to look at _him_. It's the least she can do.

* * *

She notices that he's being particularly cross with her the next day during a meeting and she tries to think back to the previous night. Did she do something? But then she remembers that it shouldn't matter; she got her kicks and so did he. She drops the thought and resumes listening to his speech, unperturbed at the fact that he doesn't acknowledge her for the rest of the afternoon.

She knows that later when they're together behind closed doors and tangled in his bed sheets, Enjolras will be far from ignorant.

The meeting ends and she slinks into his apartment a few minutes after him. He doesn't say anything as he stands in the middle of his room, letting her remove every article of clothing he has on before pushing him back onto his bed and throwing her leg over his hips. She kisses him hard, her tongue fighting its way into his mouth; a silent apology for whatever it is that she did to tick him off earlier. Or last night. Whatever.

She grins into his mouth when he sighs and finally submits, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer to grind against him.

It's only when she has his full attention that she decides to break their silence. "Enjolras..."

And just like that, he's back, as if his name rolling off her tongue was the trigger all along.

She likes feeling him on top of her while her back presses into the mattress. She likes when he uses his hands to tilt her chin towards him or pull her own hands over her head, holding them in place.

Tonight is all lips and teeth and tongue, and oh _god_... she's thinks she's going to die on the spot as he nips her earlobe then trails his lips along her jaw to her collar bone. All the while he's buried himself so deep inside her that she couldn't press herself closer to him if she tried. Hot skin slides against hot skin and she all but screams in his ear to tell him to slow down because she doesn't want it to end; not yet. There's no doubt her nails are going to leave harsh red lines along his back, but he doesn't seem to be bothered.

She tries to hold back a cry as his hips buck into hers and he hits her spot for what seems like the hundredth time that night, but he's so on his A-game tonight and she thinks she needs to get him angry more often if this is what it'll get her as a result. The thoughts of searing possibilities coupled with the present has her involuntarily biting down hard on his bottom lip.

"Ah, fuck," he gasps. She jerks her head back and looks at him worriedly.

"Did I hurt you?" Leave it up to her to ruin the moment.

But his eyes seem a little darker now and he only gives a slight shake of his head before bending down to reclaim her lips. "Do that again," he says lowly with a growl.

_Oh._

A shiver shoots right down her spine and she grazes her tongue soothingly, teasingly along his lip before offending it again with her teeth. She keeps her eyes open this time to gauge his reaction, pleased at the sound of him groaning as he knits his eyebrows and grits his teeth together.

Yes, she likes him like this.

* * *

It's part of their arrangement that they never spend the entire night in each other's bed. They never shared a bed when they were friends who _weren't_ fucking, why does it have to change just because now they're friends who _are_?

As soon as they're done, they've worn each other out to the point where it's not unusual for them to fall asleep straight away. She has some kind of internal clock, though, because she's always up before dawn and taking a shower while he continues to sleep. She's out the door before he can wake.

He's a heavy sleeper; a fact which she discovers that night when she's in his shower and accidentally lets out a loud cry, inadvertently slamming her hand against the foggy glass and rattling the frame as she reaches out for something to grab onto. She wonders what he would do if he actually woke up and found her touching herself, unable to stop from reliving the last few hours in her mind in his bathroom. It's not the last time it happens, and if he notices some mornings just a few hours after she leaves that his hot water is practically gone and there's a ghost of her handprint on the glass, he never mentions anything.

* * *

On the night Marius and Cosette announce their engagement, she stays. She's upset and frantic, and he's trying to soothe her by kissing and licking every inch of her that he can reach until she's crying out his name instead of crying tears for the man who unknowingly shattered her.

He can't help but feel angry towards the newly engaged couple for hurting her like this. But he's also angry at her... what else can he do for her? What does she want from him? He's seen how broken she is over everything... he's angry at her for choosing him of all people to witness her vulnerability. He wants to scoot his body closer to hers, wrap his arms around her and never let her go. No one would be able to hurt her anymore. Not Marius, Cosette, the lowlifes at that poor excuse for a club that she works at... no one.

But mostly he's angry at himself for letting his feelings come to this. She clearly hasn't shown any signs of wanting anything more than what they have right now. What was this girl doing to him? He's never felt like this about anyone before, and just his luck; she's basically using him to get over someone else.

But, really, fuck it all. Without a second thought, he inches towards her sleeping form and tentatively wraps his arm around her middle. He tries not to smile when he feels her relax and lean back into him.

She's still asleep past her usual wake-up time and when he stirs, he's greeted by a ticklish sensation on his cheeks, as well as a comfortable weight on his chest. He breathes in the scent of her hair and opens his eyes. He looks down at her sleeping form curled up against him and he doesn't have the heart to wake her and remind her that she's not supposed to be there.

Then he remembers last night that it was _him_ who took her into his arms, keeping her there.

He's not exactly sure what the protocol is for this; they'd never talked about what to do or how to go about the morning after if one of them did spend the night at the other's place.

Breakfast? More sex?

He settles for the former, just in case she decides to wake up and the situation becomes even more awkward. This is what they've been trying to avoid; emotions, attachments, any semblance of romantic comfort... he slowly rolls her body to the other side of the bed and grabs fresh clothes from his dresser, clothing himself hastily and slipping out of his apartment. He reminds himself over and over not to show face around her.

After all, that's not what he signed up for. He needs to accept the reality.

Then again, it's hard for Enjolras to not want to go after something when he sets his sights on it.

He returns twenty minutes later and opens the door to his apartment, balancing a tray of coffee cups and a bag of several baked pastries in one hand. For a second he's worried that she had woken up and left, but he pushes the thought aside and enters his room. He's immediately greeted by her making a beeline towards him and grabbing the tray out of his hands without so much as a 'good morning'.

"God, thank you," she says, leaning back on the wall next to his bedroom door, cup in hand. She looks content enough to just hold the coffee. Then he notices something. He gives her a once over and can't help but quirk an eyebrow.

"Are you wearing my shirt?" He asks amusedly, recognizing the red material from the night before.

"Well, somebody ripped the buttons on mine clean off last night, so I'm afraid this was the only alternative," she muses, blowing into her cup of coffee and crossing her bare legs at the ankles.

He looks down, sees one of the said buttons next to his night stand and grins in spite of himself; he wills himself to stop the blush the creeps onto his cheeks. Usually he knows how to control himself.

"So there's really nothing else for you to wear in that dresser over there?" He teases. He knows she hates when he insinuates that she's more comfortable with the whole arrangement than she lets on.

_"It's not like we're getting fucking married,"_ she said once after he exasperatedly suggested just leaving some of her clothes in his apartment. She's had a penchant for stealing his shirts in the last few months and he was running low. She gradually left enough clothes to fill half a drawer.

But they'd never brought that up until now.

She narrows her eyes and tilts her head, scrutinizing him. She places her cup on the small table beside her and crosses her arms. Bothering her has always been one of his favourite unspoken forms of entertainment since he can remember. His face may not convey it, but he gets a real kick out of the way her eyebrows draw together and her lips purse. The little habit brings out her dimples and makes her less of a threat than she thinks she is.

"Why, do you want it back?" She asks after a moment. He's about to respond with something witty, glad that the earlier awkwardness he felt was dissipating. But his reply dies on his lips immediately, feeling his jaw slacken a little as she throws the shirt off over her head and hangs it in her hand. She has a questioning frown on her face, mocking him as she stands before him in nothing but her undergarments.

Well. He didn't see _that_ coming.

He isn't aware of his eyes traveling over her person until she lets out a chuckle. His gaze immediately snaps back up to her face, where she now wears a relentless smirk. He has half a mind to kiss it right off.

Two can play at that game, he concludes, remembering just how exasperating she could be. He rips his own white shirt off, dropping it to the floor as he walks right up to her. She holds his gaze challengingly but he can't help the urge to laugh as her eyes unwillingly flicker over his bare torso. He takes the end of the outstretched shirt with one hand and pries her practically limp fingers off of it with the other. Her hand falls to her side immediately. The contact with her skin brings back images from the previous night and it takes almost everything inside of him not to toss the damn shirt aside, grab her and have an encore performance. Apparently she has the same train of thought because she inches herself closer to him, arching her back slightly. His eyes drift down her long, delicate neck to her collar bone, then her chest; he feels his lips part and his head involuntarily move towards her. She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and raises her eyebrows as he spares a quick glance into her eyes. He almost lets out a groan, remembering the first time she bit his lip and _god, how much he loved it_. He's pretty sure he voiced how much he enjoyed the little kink and now she's just doing it to get to him. She needs to stop that. His free hand reaches up and he lets his fingers graze over her lip; she obediently releases it from her teeth. His fingers linger there, barely resisting the need to tangle in her hair and pull her to him.

They're less than an inch apart before he steps back and throws the red v-neck shirt on, covering himself back up and swiftly walking past her towards the door with a satisfied sigh.

"It's my favourite shirt, so, yes. Thank you."

He remembers to take his coffee and hears her gasp behind him. He laughs as she lets out a frustrated noise and stomps her bare foot on the ground, whirling around to glare at him. He immediately ducks and pulls the door shut from the outside of the room before the pillow she's flinging in his direction hits him.

He hears her shout _"Screw you!",_ and all he can do is laugh. Because of course she will.

Turns out waking up next to her isn't all that bad.

* * *

But then he's suddenly reminded that they're friends. Friends who jump into bed with each other whenever it's most convenient, but nothing more than that.

So it shouldn't surprise him (it doesn't, he thinks) when she teases him good-naturedly about the new barista at the café writing her number on his paper cup before handing it to him.

It also shouldn't surprise him when she accepts to go out on a date on a night when he's feeling rather... needy (it shouldn't, but it does).

"_Can't tonight,_" she says into her phone. "_I have a date._"

He lets out a noncommittal grunt and doesn't even bother asking who with. "Have fun."

"_I always do,_" she replies.

And that's that.

* * *

Turns out, though, after three weeks of monogamous dating with the guy she ditched Enjolras for, Éponine finds out he's married. He can't help but feel a sick sense of satisfaction rush through him.

_"I'm the other woman, Enj!"_ She tells him over the phone, horrified.

"You're _still_? Or...?"

She pauses. "_No. No. I refuse to be second to anyone anymore."_

He wants to tell her that she's not, but instead there's a comfortable silence between them before Éponine speaks again.

_"Are you busy tonight?"_

* * *

And then they're back at it.

He's sweating, panting, and halfway inside her when she moans into his ear. "You have no idea how much I needed this..."

And because he's an idiot when it comes to her lately, he pulls out and glares at her. He would laugh at the expression on her face if he wasn't currently so affronted at her comment. Because _she's_ the one that has no idea.

"Are you fucking joking?" She complains as he pushes himself off of her, even as she tries to pull him back to her with the legs wrapped around his waist. He simply pats her ass, unamused, and she drops her legs. He can feel her glaring at his back as he scoots to the opposite end of the sofa in his room.

"You're allowed to call me whenever you want, but when I want you, you're suddenly busy?"

"Oh my god. We're just messing around, you know that," she laughs, still a bit breathless from their activities. "No emotions, no attachments, remember?"

He rolls his eyes at how flippant she is. He scrubs a hand over his face. "I know. I know."

"Then _mademoiselle_, stop being such a killjoy and come back here, please," she huffs, thoroughly disappointed and unsatisfied.

"I think I'm going to go cool off for a while, I have a lot of work to do for tomorrow's meeting." He chooses to ignore her little shot at his masculinity and is standing with his back turned to her, pulling his jeans on. He sighs as her arms snake around his waist from behind and she's pressing her chest against his back, teeth and lips nipping at his shoulder.

"I thought we were doing this to forget about things like that, Enj," she murmured into the back of his neck.

He removes her hands and turns to face her. "It's not a 'thing', Éponine. I've been working my ass off for five years. This isn't some game. Unlike this," he motions between them. "I don't know what the hell _this_ is anymore."

She looks at a loss for words for the first time in months. "Good lord, I've actually cracked the marble."

"For fuck's sake," he mutters disbelievingly.

"Is that the proper way to speak to a lady?" She smirks.

He rolls his eyes again. Such an infuriating girl. "Look, you may have everyone fooled when you're in front of our friends, but when it's just us, I can see right through you."

"Oh, really?" She's standing now, all modesty forgotten.

Now or never.

"Who was the one taking you in every time Montparnasse hurt you? Every time one of your customers went a little too far, who was there telling you that it's not worth it? Listening to your incessant ramblings about Pontmercy for god knows how long? You put on a mask whenever you're around him and Cosette, around _everyone_, acting like you're fine and being a clever little smartass, but who do you come crying to after?"

"Stop it," she hisses, looking at the curtains, the walls, anywhere but him.

Something in his chest wrenches as he sees her face falter. He can't help the way his voice comes out, all soft and almost desperate. He hates himself. "Why do you always come back? Why me?"

Her eyes finally lock on his, but they're quiet, daring each other to say anything; do _something_. But then as soon as her eyes soften, the moment is broken and her walls are back up.

"Are you looking to boost your ego?" She scoffs. "Because you're a good lay, Enjolras. Why the fuck else?"

_'Say it, say something to let me know I'm not alone in this,'_ he wants to say.

"I think it's because you know I won't treat you the way Marius did-"

"I said don't bring him up," she warns, voice trembling, but he's not done.

"Or have you be the 'other woman' when you should be the _only_ woman-"

Before either of them know it, she's flinging herself at him and shoving at his chest, he grabs her wrist and manoeuvres them to fall back onto his bed.

"Shut up," she murmurs against his mouth, clinging onto his arms. "Please."

He just nips her lips and chin with his teeth and does what she says. Because at the end of the day, he always does what she says. And he's so far gone into her fucked up game and _her_ to know that he always will.

"I said no falling in love with me," she whispers, lips pressed against his ear. He can feel her eyes shut against his cheek. "You promised."

Maybe in time, he'll be able to crack through her armour completely, just as she did his.


	2. Chapter 2

**The response for this story was completely overwhelming, thank you all so much. I wouldn't have continued this if it weren't for your words of encouragement. This is for you guys. :)**** Also, thanks to Elle (miss-prepaholic on tumblr) for her feedback and Jess (thatgirljazz on tumblr) for being an awesome beta. Thanks again for the amazing response to this fic. Hope you enjoy.  
**

* * *

She lies in her bed alone. In the silence of her apartment, all she hears is the leaky faucet in her kitchen through her thin bedroom door. Her eyes graze over the cracks in the stucco of her ceiling and the chipping paint in the far corner. She notes how different her and Enjolras' dwellings are, having been accustomed to spending many nights in it; those immaculately painted walls, those perfect ceilings, in his bed, under him...

Not tonight, though. He decided to fuck everything up by telling her that he had _feelings_ for her.

She thinks back to that moment days ago. She remembers tackling him and landing on his bed, telling him to shut up, to stop whatever nonsense he was spouting and just fuck her. Because that was always the deal; nothing more.

...

_She feels his arms wrap around her middle and it's too comforting and warm that she actually squirms, trying to pull away from it. She shoves against his shoulders; his hands just won't stop caressing her back in this way that makes her want to relax into his touch._

_But she's never been one to give into weakness. She bites his shoulder with a growl - a little trick she learned from him - and he sucks in a breath, ceasing his ministrations._

_He rolls them over and takes her hands, pinning them above their heads. _

_"I didn't promise anything," he says into the crook of her neck, replying to her earlier accusation. She's snaking her hands between their bodies and undoing his jeans once more, but he beats her to it and pulls back before rolling them onto their sides, once again wrapping his arms around her waist."We need to talk."_

_'Like you haven't said enough already,' she thinks. "No, and we certainly aren't fucking cuddling either, Enjolras. Can you just, fuck-" she lets out a short and desperate huff. This was _not_ the plan tonight. _

_He stares at her before he sighs. She tries not to flinch at the dejection she can see in his eyes. "That's really all this is to you then, isn't it?"_

_It's not so much a question as it is an observation. She just clenches her jaw in response. Good, maybe now he'll get angry. She likes how he is in bed when he's angry. Fingers digging into skin, biting, scratching; all familiar territory. Her own twisted definition of safe._

_She just hopes he doesn't try to bail again, because leaving her high and dry twice in one night is beyond cruel. Instead he gets a look in his eyes; one that she recognizes whenever he goes up in front of their friends to make a speech, or when he's set on finishing a paper even at 4 in the morning, practically burning a hole through the pages._

_A smirk forms on her lips at the familiar determination now etched on his face. Anticipation floods over her as he hastily removes the remaining clothes on his body._

_She expects him to pin her completely against the mattress, but instead he's pulling her in and caressing her cheek with his fingers and 'what in God's name is he doing?' He's kissing her and running his fingers through her hair, and soon enough his body is hovering over hers and then he's inside her. 'Finally.'_

_But he's moving slowly, savouring each thrust and kiss. The friction is already almost too much for her. They've never done it like this and, fuck, it's the farthest thing from terrible._

_"Look at me, Ep." His breathing is ragged and there's something in his tone now. She knows it's not enough to simply look in the direction of his voice, blank and distracted like she usually does. Something in her causes her to gaze up at him, completely transfixed. He wants her to look at him, and she does, but it's too much. And his eyes... they're so blue and honest; though she can barely see the blue of his irises, dilated and cloudy with want. She can practically see her own reflection in them, but she's so _not enough_ for what this man deserves so she tears her eyes away and instead looks down his back at the lines of their joined bodies. They're sweat and tangled legs; torrid physicalities. That's what she's good at._

_"Merde," he grunts, head falling against her collar bone; whether he's cursing at being close or at her for looking away, she's not quite sure._

_'Bite me, go hard and fast, tear me apart,_'_ she almost yells in desperation. But his lips are soft while he's caressing her, kissing her. She whimpers - fucking _whimpers _at how good he's making her feel, and she loathes herself so much for it._

_She tries to rectify the situation by digging her nails into his back, scratching and attempting to bring things back to what they were. But he tugs at her arms, laces his fingers with hers and once again pins them above her head. His thumbs stroke her knuckles and she might be holding onto him a little bit tighter than usual._

_He's still moving against her slowly, as if she's some precious, delicate little thing. She's really not, and it's unfamiliar but it feels so, so good. Then he's holding her face in his hands, and she's a bit breathless and elated; squeezing her eyes shut, her fingers move and travel down his neck to flutter against his shoulders - she's so close..._

_"Open your eyes," he says breathlessly. "Éponine, please," he grunts, hips bucking. When she does, she does so with a gasp; brown meets blue once again and his gaze is burning right through to her core and, yes, she's looking at him like he asked. But it's more than that. She sees him. Enjolras, ever loyal and reliable Enjolras. Enjolras, maybe not quite the marble statue everyone makes him out to be, who just admitted to actually feeling something towards someone, let alone her… he's never been so open with anyone in his life, ever, and here he is practically opening himself up completely..._

Enjolras, Enjolras, Enjolras...

_She's gasping his name in between mewls and whimpers, clinging to him as if she's trying to reassure herself that this is actually happening. Soon, they're both panting and she's arching up, her feet scratching at his legs, kneading the pads of her fingers into his back and shoulders and just _everywhere_._

_She's urging him on while he speeds up and both of them are nearing the edge._

_Neither of them can tear their eyes away and they come together for the first time._

_It's only when he's kissing her face and pressing soft kisses onto her eyelids that she lets them close._

...

Éponine is flushed just thinking about that night, never mind that she can still feel every trail that his lips have left on her body, ghosting over her at that very moment. It takes almost all of her willpower not to trail her own hand down those very paths until she reaches her centre, just as he did.

But then she's wondering what the hell gives him the right to say things like that to her? He's supposed to know her better than anyone with all the shit she puts him through and he all of a sudden thinks that's an invitation to change their entire relationship? She's baffled to the point where she's almost offended.

_Almost_.

* * *

She was gone when he woke up. He shouldn't have been surprised, but a part of him was. It hasn't helped him since then, not when that night and the morning after keeps playing over and over in his head.

He thinks back to her eyes boring into his and for a few seconds, he thought he had her. But then she leaves with only the scent of her on his pillow as a reminder.

...

_He braces himself as he walks up to his dresser. He pulls open the drawer that she'd adopted as her own and filled up with her clothes. _

_It's empty._

...

He remembers closing the wooden drawer with more force than necessary. If that's how she wants to handle things, then fine. He reassures himself that there are more important things to worry about, and that this is exactly the reason why he never opens up to people.

* * *

Their friends start noticing the growing distance between the two, and he supposes their blatant ignorance of each other makes it pretty obvious. But no one's said anything for the last week, which Enjolras is thankful for.

That is, until Grantaire opens his mouth.

"Okay, what the hell is going on with you two?"

The look that Éponine shoots the dark-haired man is enough for all of them around her to cower back a little. Combeferre looks from her to him curiously.

"Nothing," Enjolras clips, glaring at Combeferre. Because it's true.

There is absolutely _nothing_ going on.

* * *

She starts showing up to the Musain less and less and starts picking up more shifts at work. The only time she actually talks to any of the Amis (save for one) is through text messages, and even those are growing shorter and less frequent as days pass.

* * *

The next time she would actually talk to him is after a protest at the Sorbonne. And there's no way in hell she can avoid him now.

She's jumping out of the shower and stomping angrily over to where her phone's been ringing for the last twenty minutes. She checks the call log and sees three missed calls from both Bahorel and Combeferre, and four from Courfeyrac and Jehan. She knows she's been out of touch, but this is getting ridiculous. Letting out an annoyed huff, she goes to silence the ringer, but then it starts up again. Courfeyrac.

He immediately starts talking when she picks up. _"Finally! Why the hell haven't you been answering?"_

"Courf, I'm not—"

_"Look, I'm sure you have your reasons for ignoring us, but right now isn't the time."_

He sounds rushed and breathless, and she can hear shuffling and other frantic voices in the background. "What the hell is going on?" Now she's a little bit worried.

_"We're at the hospital. It's Enjolras."_

Before she can even ask Courfeyrac what happened, she's dressed and out the door on her way to the hospital, her phone pressed between her ear and shoulder as she fumbles with her keys. Fifteen minutes later, she's there and she's not surprised to see a handful of the guys pacing the hallway or sitting down on the uncomfortable waiting chairs. Bahorel's knuckles are bloody and Grantaire is holding an ice pack to his cheek. She rolls her eyes, putting the pieces together. _Fucking really? Stupid boys._

"In there?" she asks without greeting, jutting her thumb towards a door. Combeferre and Feuilly give her a nod.

He's asleep, but he's not hooked up to anything so she takes that as a good sign. She does grimace slightly at his bruised arms and bandaged leg. His cheek is an alarming purple colour and his fists are clenched; she can see the harsh red welts cutting along his knuckles. He as a split lip, but as banged up as he is, she can't help but notice how relaxed he looks in his sleep. Of all the times that she's stayed with him in bed long enough to see him sleep (which she could literally count on one hand), she's never noticed how young he looked.

_Stupid, stupid boys, _she thinks.

* * *

His eyes blink open and he sees her right away. He must have moved or made a noise because she strides right to him from her spot near the window with a frown on her face. She pauses and her eyes flicker to the cast on his leg. He barely opens his mouth to greet her before she moves again.

"You idiot," she says immediately as she's within arm's reach of him, smacking him on the shoulder. He can hear the relief in her voice, which makes her greeting less painful. Not by much, though.

He winces and visibly shrinks away from her. "I'm a bit tender at the moment, Éponine."

"You scared the shit out of me." The harshness in her tone is still there, but thankfully she's making no move to manhandle him.

"At least you're talking to me again."

"Not fucking funny," she deadpans. "Your idiot friends wouldn't stop calling; I thought you died!"

He looks at her, amused by the colourful language that's just so Éponine, and the assumption that he had died from a few punches (and a crowbar to the leg, but she doesn't need to know that). "A fight broke out at the protest."

"I gathered that after seeing the others out there." Her face twists into confusion and she lowers herself into the chair next to his bed. "You're normally the voice of reason when fights break out; what happened?"

He looks at her a little bewildered as she talks to him like nothing out of the ordinary has gone on between them. _Nothing like a good old beat down to bring people together,_ he thinks sardonically.

"Some men in the crowd threatened a couple with a knife and a pipe and stole their stuff, so I went and got it back. They cornered me and, well," he swept his hand over his body, indicating his injuries. "The others found me, chased them away, and here we are."

"So you went after them _willingly_. Alone."

He nods, shrugging. And the big deal was…? Better him than innocent people.

Sighing, she drops her face in her hands, mumbling through her fingers, "I swear to God, Enj." His eyebrows furrow as he watches her. She looks disheveled and absolutely exhausted. Was this because of him? Was she really _that_ worried? He'd be a liar if he said it didn't make him feel a little better.

"Don't _do _that."

He clenches his teeth, raising an eyebrow at her. "And who exactly are you to tell me what I can or can't do?" Last he checked, she didn't want _anything _to do with him.

She visibly blanches, but in true Éponine fashion, she's sending him a scowl not a second later. "Well _pardon _fucking _moi _ for being concerned."

He can see her suddenly fidgeting in her seat and knows he's made her uncomfortable. He really doesn't want her to leave; he softens and shoots her an apologetic look. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"Yes, but you don't have to always play hero to everyone all the time. Just leave it. Some people can handle themselves."

He wants to ask her who exactly she's talking about now, but he decides against it.

"I just want my best friend back," she says sadly, her voice strained. Reaching over, she touches the bandage circling his palm. "In one piece, if you don't mind."

Even though he's the one bedridden and broken, he wants to turn his hand over and hold hers, comfort her. But he's too tired and he doesn't want to scare her away again. Not when he just got her back.

Her words make him feel numb all over, but he musters up a smile and nods.

* * *

He's back home the next day, but has been confined to bed rest for the rest of the week. It annoys him that he can barely move to do things for himself, so at his friends' insistence, they all take turns checking up on him throughout the day.

It's almost night time and he's ready to give up on trying to sleep when he hears the extra key the guys have been passing around open his apartment door, followed by a set of footsteps. None of his friends' footsteps are that light. Except for Jehan; Enjolras is about 90% convinced that he's some kind of pixie.

He knows who it is the second they enter his bedroom and sits on the edge of his bed, just by their scent. It's the one that's clung to his pillowcase, mocking him for days until he got fed up and washed it about three times over. His eyes are still closed, but he can feel her fingers running along his bare shoulder. He grabs her hand with his uninjured one and almost growls. "I wouldn't do that."

She lets out a small gasp and narrows her eyes at him. "I'm just checking up on you before I go to work."

"I'm fine," he says between gritted teeth. He feels like an invalid.

She scoffs incredulously and looks down at his stomach, where a blotch of red seeps through his bandage.

His eyes follow hers. "No idea how that happened."

"Well, you always were a fidgety sleeper," she says fondly, her lip turning up at one corner. It's gone before either of them can even blink.

An awkward silence hangs in the air and she coughs, mumbling something about Joly killing her if she doesn't change his bandages. Frankly, he doesn't want an infection and needs to get back on his feet as soon as possible. So he doesn't stop her this time when she attempts to touch him.

Plus, he really does miss feeling her hands on him.

* * *

She misses touching him, too, and neither of them say anything as she concernedly brushes her fingers over the bruises on his shoulder, even after he's cleaned up with fresh bandages.

"I'm not living up to that whole 'marble' thing you all go on about, am I?" his voice is low, lazy and relaxed but at the same time tense as she touches him.

"No, you're not marble," she murmurs, tracing his chest with her nails. "You bruise and bleed like everyone else." She presses her nails down against him, pulling and watching as she leaves behind a trail of pink under his skin. He hisses and she smirks. "Like me."

He brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear and lingers. Her eyes still survey her work on his already damaged skin and leans down, grazing her lips along the offended flesh just below his collar bone. As soon as she touches him like that, she knows she should pull back, but she doesn't. Because she's stupid, and naïve, and selfish. She remembers how she had marked him night after night. Reminders that he was hers and nobody else's. And if he's willing to be with her (he still was willing, right?), then why _couldn't _she be selfish and just let him?

But then she feels his fingers tangle themselves in her hair and tug her slightly upwards. She's an inch away from his lips and she can feel his breath on her, and she almost misses what he says thanks to the pounding in her chest.

"Don't."

She snaps her mouth shut because she realizes she might have waited too long and now they staring at each other. His eyes are steely but almost pleading, and she decides not push it. She chuckles bitterly, standing up. "Get some sleep."

* * *

Marius and Cosette have their wedding in June, and it's about as grandiose as Éponine can expect from the two of them. She wonders what the wedding would have been like had she been the one marrying him. But she'll never know about anything of that life now. She's not even sure if she wants it.

The couple is cutting the cake and everyone in the room laughs as Cosette smashes a bit of it in her husband's face. God, they're adorable. It makes her sick. Even Enjolras, who's sitting across from her and is very much in her peripheral lets out a chuckle. She subtly watches him and wonders what he would be like on his own wedding day. What would his bride be like? To her horror, the thought of the bride being a complete stranger makes her a little angry and she catches herself before her mind wanders even further. She mumbles out an "excuse me" to no one in particular and pushes her seat back before leaving the banquet hall.

She takes a deep breath once she's outside, having felt suffocated the longer she stayed indoors. After a few minutes, she hears someone approach her from behind and she just knows. He followed her out.

_Of course_ he did.

"Everyone's looking for you," he says quietly; stoically, she notices. She doesn't make any indication to move and neither does he. There's no rush to get back and they both know it. It's just the two of them outside, alone and completely out in the open.

"I needed some air."

"Are you okay?"

He's asking about Marius, she knows. She thinks about it – really thinks about it, and nods. "Yes. I'm good."

She only hears the shuffling of his feet and they stand in silence.

"So now that we're talking again," he starts, breaking it, "am I allowed to ask why you left?"

"I just told you, I needed some air."

"I didn't mean tonight," he says.

She blinks and flinches a little. "Well, you didn't hesitate very long to bring _that _issue up."

"This is me you're talking to, Éponine. You know I don't like gray areas."

She shoots him a condescending smile before turning away again. "You make it sound so trivial."

"Is it?" Now he's standing beside her, a good few feet between them. He's got his hands in his pockets and continues to stare out into the night. "To you?" She doesn't know what to say and keeps her sight trained on a flickering streetlight above them. "Because that's the last thing I'd use to describe it."

"Oh? Go on, then. What does the mighty silver tongued one think?"

"You _know_ what I think."

Their quiet is disrupted by a group of people that Éponine doesn't know coming out of the building, laughing and obviously quite drunk. Enjolras doesn't know them, either, judging by his lack of a reaction. His eyes are glued on her. She blinks away from his scrutiny and focuses on the group just mere feet away; they're passing around a lighter to light their cigarettes. She could definitely go for one of those right now. Then she feels Enjolras' stare practically burning through her.

"Dammit, Enj," she mumbles exasperatedly, reaching out and pulling him by the lapels of his suit jacket until her back hits a wall and encases them in shadows. The stones that make up the building are biting into the bare skin of her back that her dress doesn't cover, and she gladly welcomes the feeling. Reaching up, she pulls him closer to her and looks pointedly at him. He's illuminated by faint city lights and the stars and the moon; she hates what looking at him is doing to her insides. His eyes are on her lips but she takes his chin and nudges him up to look her in the eyes. "Look at me."

Their eyes lock, her mind immediately flashes to the last time they were… _together_, and his voice rings in her head.

_'Look at me, Ep.'_

The tables have turned, but now, with all their proximity and the familiar blue haze boring into her, the last thing she wants to end up doing is run away.

They need to settle some things.

* * *

His breathing becomes shallow, because the last time she was this close to him, he almost lost it.

"I left because I was _scared_, okay?"

"But I thought you weren't scared of anything."

"I'm scared of you," she says, almost disbelievingly. "I'm scared of what you're doing to me, how you're making me feel. How you and your stupid face have been plaguing my thoughts since we… I just, I'm not used to it, and I'm confused, and I don't like it."

"Do you regret any of it?"

"No," she says firmly. "No. The only thing I regret is letting it get to the point of ruining our friendship."

"We're still friends, Éponine," he's surprised that she could even think they weren't," that hasn't changed."

"You're too good to me, you know that?" she scoffs, looking down as her fingers slide under his tie, fingering the material.

"You deserve good things," he murmurs, watching her.

"I know I do," she chuckles. "I deserve the fucking world."

He hums in agreement and her lips hover over his now, so close that he barely has to move for them to be on each other.

"And you think you can give that to me?" her tone is teasing. "_Monsieur?_"

"Only if you want."

"Even after I've been a bad, bad girl, using you to get over a stupid little crush on some married man?"

He nods, his lips grazing hers for a fraction of a second. He doesn't miss the quick breath she draws.

"Why?"

"I don't know," he mumbles.

"Don't you know what people say about me?" she asks, her gaze drifting down again and fingering the buttons of his dress shirt. "They say I'm dirt…"

He dips his head down to catch her eyes once more. He's moved even closer now and his eyes are hard; fiercely piercing into hers. "You're not."

Her head shakes in contempt. "That I'll always be my father's daughter. 'That Thenardier girl…'"

"Don't," he breathes, kissing her. He's known her far too long and far too well to know when she's testing him.

"I'm no good for you, everybody knows it. They wouldn't like seeing us together."

"When I have I ever cared about doing what other people wanted?"

"Oh, of course, brave little Enjolras," she smiles wickedly, bitterly, bumping his nose with hers. "Always gets what he wants, doesn't he? Trying to change the world; trying to change _my _world." She leans back away from him very slightly and even still, he feels cold at the loss of it. "You can't fix the unfixable."

"There's _nothing_ to fix," he whispers darkly. "You're just being stubborn, as always."

"_I'm _being stubborn? I'm practically giving you an out."

He shakes his head and he doesn't miss the little look of relief that passes through her features. "I don't want one. And if you're really trying to push me away, then why have you still got me pressed up against this wall?"

She throws her head back and laughs. "Wow. Fuck you, you pompous son of a bitch."

He scoffs and his hand finds itself on the side of her face, pulling her gaze back to him. "I'm not going to force you into a relationship that you don't want to be in. We were friends before and we still can be. I'm whatever you want me to be, but you just have to _tell me_. Because I don't want to waste my time and you of all people should know how much I _don't do this kind of thing_." He shakes his head again, but it's more at himself than anything. "It's like you fucking broke me, Éponine."

He feels winded as her lips crash onto his. She's murmuring incoherently against him and he can only make out a few words like 'want' and 'sorry' and 'talk tomorrow', and he pulls away because he wants to know what that even means. He needs to know.

"Let's just get out of here, please," she whispers.

* * *

They spend the night at his place, parked on the floor in front of the television like they used to. They're wrapped up against each other but neither of them makes a move to go any further than a few kisses and caresses.

It continues this way for the next few weeks. Enjolras gives her space and she takes it, but she refuses to ever take too much. Not this time.

* * *

They sleep together again and it's just as euphoric as the last time all those months ago. The difference is that she doesn't leave… not suddenly, anyway. Now she wakes him up, kissing him and murmuring against his lips that she has to go.

He's pretty sure she doesn't _have to_,but it's progress, and he'll take what he can get.

* * *

It's some random day in the summer when it hits her.

She finds herself lounging around in his apartment all day; nothing out of the ordinary, really. But today she doesn't have work and he's cancelled the meeting at the Musain, saying they'll regroup tomorrow.

He's not even doing some big, grand gesture, either. He's just asking her if she wants pizza or Chinese. But for some reason she just stares at him in wonder for too long that she only snaps out of it when he starts waving two take-out menus in her face.

Maybe it's that he didn't even have to ask her if she was staying for dinner, or the fact that he's letting her choose what to eat for the both of them. Her mind reels at the domesticity of the entire situation and how _comfortable _she feels in it. How long has this even been going on? She doesn't know what's happening anymore.

But that's _when _she knows that, _fuck, _maybe a part of her does love him.

* * *

Later that night, she's still trying to make heads and tails out of her new-found discovery while absent-mindedly running her fingers through Enjolras' hair. She curses in surprise as he bites her inner thigh, startling her out of her thoughts.

"God," she gasps, opening her eyes and looking down at him, an exasperated laugh escaping her lips.

He smirks slightly and places a kiss on her hip before propping himself above her. "If you're not into this tonight, I can go."

And park himself on the living room couch? That's the exact opposite of what she wants. Then she's mentally slapping herself, because the man's skills with his tongue isn't limited to just oration and she can't even enjoy it now because she's thinking too much about how she might be (no, she's positive that she is) in love with him.

But she doesn't know how to tell him that, so she rolls her eyes and hooks her leg around the back of his thigh, pulling his body flush against hers.

"I want this," she reassures. _You, _she thinks.

* * *

"Good morning," she drawls the next day, stretching her arms above her head.

"You're still here," he murmurs, blinking her into clarity.

"Yes."

He lets out a soft grunt, half surprised and half asleep. "Why?" He asks sounding genuinely confused after a bit of silence. She feels a bit guilty for being so difficult with her feelings.

"Because I _want _to be here. With you," she shrugs, closing her eyes and pretending to doze off. It's really just so he can't see in her eyes how much she really, really means it this time. Who _knows _what else she might say if she actually looks at him. But she's said what she said and now she feels naked (which is saying something, seeing as she's literally already buck-ass naked save for a thin blanket twisted haphazardly over her waist).

She's almost dreading his reaction, but a part of her wants him to react the way she knows he will. She decides to open her eyes because she _wants_ to feel wanted, to see that look on his face where his eyes darken and narrow in the slightest; where his lips part before breaking into that smile that rarely happens, but when it does… she can't even think, she just wants those lips on hers.

And she's happy when it happens.

She's _happy._

He hums and rolls on top of her, pulling back and nuzzling his head in the crook of her neck, running his hands down her arms. "Why?" he repeats, and she can feel his lips curving into a smile against her skin.

Oh, now he's just being a bastard.

"You _know _why," she squirms delightedly under his touch.

"Say it," he teases.

"Please don't make me say it," she groans, "_You _haven't even said it the entire time you were passionately lusting over me."

But she feels it; he doesn't even have to say it.

He lets out a chuckle, low and amused at her dramatic tone. He pokes at her side, eliciting a laugh from her. "I've never…" he shakes his head against her neck.

"Me neither."

"But… we're getting there," he pulls his head back to look at her face. He's searching her eyes with his and _oh fuck, here we go, _she's sinking, ready to give him everything. "Right?"

_God, yes. _She nods and pulls him in by the back of his neck, failing to keep the smile from tugging at her lips. "Now, shut up."

He chuckles before she closes the gap between them.

Maybe they can't say those three words out loud for now, but they don't need to. They have all the time in the world for that.


End file.
